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I Tell My Story to Change the World I grew up in Freetown, the capital of Sierra Leone, in Africa. I lived with my great-grandmother and my stepmother. My father and my grandmother had already moved to the United States. In 1991, a civil war started in the villages. People were unhappy with the government and were trying to overthrow it. We thought we were safe, but in 1997, 10 days after my 11th birthday, rebels attacked the city. Everyone was surprised. There were guns, bombing. It was like that all morning. The rebels killed all the government and business people. My great-grandmother had had an affair with the Minister of Finance, and she owned many businesses. So the rebels destroyed our businesses and bombed our family home. Some of my cousins were raped, the rebels killed my great-grandmother, and my uncles and I fled before they could catch us. The Land of Milk and Honey? My uncle and I walked from Freetown to Guinea, a neighboring country. We walked by foot in the forest for a month. We encountered the war as we walked through the villages. I lost my uncle along the way but found my stepmother, fortunately. We decided to walk together. In Guinea I lived in a refugee camp for two weeks and then moved to the city. I lived there for three years and went through a lot of struggles. It was really hard. When we came to New York to live with my father in 2000, when I was 14, I thought life would be better. I thought I could go to school, get a job. Basically, I thought America was the land of milk and honey, you could find money everywhere. I didn’t know you have to work so hard to get it. When I was little, my great-grandmother had told me that my mother abandoned me when I was 2 years old. But when I came to New York, my mother started calling the house. I don’t know how she got my grandmother’s number. She was still living in a village in Sierra Leone. But she started calling saying she wanted to talk to me. My grandmother would tell her, “No, you’re not going to do this to the boy. Why do this? He’s all the way here.” Finding My Mother But my mother kept calling, expecting that one day I’d answer the phone and she would talk to me. Finally, one day I did. That’s when I found out the real story about my mother. It turned out that my mother came from a very poor family from a small village with only 50 people. And my father was from a wealthy family. My great-grandmother and grandmother were not proud that my father was dating a poor girl from a village. When I was 2 years old, they forced her to leave me. They didn’t want her around me anymore. ‘This Isn’t Happening’ When I found out the truth, I was like, “This isn’t happening.” But two years ago I went back to Sierra Leone and I met my mother. We spent one month together, and I met my two brothers. She told me everything that happened. That’s when I believed her. I was expecting to develop a relationship with my mom. I thought that trip would be a second beginning for us. Unfortunately, it didn’t happen. Four months after I came back, my brother called me and said she passed away. She had cancer. It was really hard for me. Relying Only on Myself My relationship with my family here fell apart, also. . . |
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Handbooks for Youth Leaving Care You Are Not Alone, by Lawyers for Children Do You Have What It Takes? by Youth Communication Handbook for Youth in Foster Care English - Spanish |